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elysianymph · 10 months

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signed, sealed, (not) delivered

A collection of letters exchanged between Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene Mckinnon between 1975 and 1981.

dedicated to @lesbianmckinnonn

ZANDRA HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE <33 i wish you the best and hope you have a great day. i'm so glad i met you, you're so talented and i love talking to you about our silly little headcanons and screaming about the angst we write. sorry for giving you angst on your birthday (i'm not) but that's my brand and this idea came to me one night so i had to. hope you like it <33 (sorry if i make you cry)

The first letter — or rather piece of parchment that they wrote on together — was exchanged during a particularly boring Defence Against The Dark Arts class in their fifth year. Even Dorcas couldn't help letting her mind drift elsewhere as the professor talked, her manicured nails tapping against the wooden desk, counting down the seconds until the unbearably boring class would be dismissed.

Until a piece of parchment had landed right in front of her. She looked down at the offending object like it would turn to ashes from her gaze alone. The last thing she needed was a detention for passing notes.

She looked up, hoping to see who had thrown it at her, and she immediately made eye-contact with a pair of smug hazel eyes that belonged to none other than Marlene Mckinnon, her rival on and off the quidditch pitch. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she glared at Mckinnon who wore a grin on her face, a dimple appearing on her left cheek from how hard she was smiling.

‘Open it,’ she mouthed to Dorcas, sending her a wink. Dorcas felt her cheeks heating up — in anger and annoyance, obviously — but her curiosity took over and she opened up the parchment carefully, bracing herself like it would explode in her hands.

‘Meadowes, are you going to grace us with your presence at the Gryffindor Tower this Friday?’ was scribbled on the parchment in Mckinnon’s messy handwriting. Dorcas’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

‘Why are you so interested? Hoping for something?’ She wrote and threw the note back to Mckninnon’s desk, making sure the professor’s back was turned so he wouldn't catch her.

Dorcas watched Mckinnon from the corner of her eyes as she quickly wrote down her reply, pausing before scribbling something else on the note. She threw it back to Dorcas discreetly.

‘Don't flatter yourself, Meadowes. I’ve just heard you’re good company when you’re high and trust me, there will be plenty of weed. My friends made sure of it.’

Dorcas rolled her eyes, taking a peek behind her to see the aforementioned friends sitting in the back of the class, trying to keep their laughter in at some ridiculous joke.

‘And by your friends I suppose you mean the four imbeciles sitting in the back poking each other in their asses with their quills?’

Mckinnon choked back a laugh as she read Dorcas’ reply and Dorcas had to force her head to turn away so she wouldn't continue to watch as Marlene laughed, mesmerised by how her eyes turned to crescent moons.

‘They’re having more fun than we are, you have to admit.’

‘I would be having more fun if you would stop sending me these notes.’ Dorcas threw the note back, not bothering to even look at Mckinnon.

‘I wouldn't have to if you answered my question.’

Ah, so Mckinnon wasn't going to let it go. Dorcas finally writes the question that had been going through her head the entire conversation onto the parchment. ‘Why are you even asking? It’s not like you're going to spend time with me.’

Mckinnon actually pouted when she opened the note. With a crease between her brows she threw it back at Dorcas.

‘How will you know if you don't show up?’

Dorcas stared at the note for a moment, perplexed and at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say to that? She turned to look at Mckinnon — hoping to read from her expression whether or not this was some big joke — only to see her biting at her lower lip, watching Dorcas intently. When she realised Dorcas was looking she perked up, eyes wide as she mouthed ‘please.’

Dorcas turned back to the letter and let out a sigh, her anxiety leaving her body along with the air as she made an impulsive decision. She wrote down her reply and threw the note to Marlene, not giving herself a chance to overthink it. ‘I’m expecting the weed to be free.’

Mckinnon threw the letter back to her with a playful wink. ‘I’ve got it all sorted out for you, don't worry your pretty head about it.’

Dorcas gave her one last look, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She rested her head against the palm of her hand and the rest of the class seemed to pass by in a blur, her thoughts occupied by the girl in red as she absentmindedly played with the crumpled parchment.

The second (first?) letters they exchanged were over the summer break right after their fifth year. Surprisingly, all that was needed to bring two rivals together was a bunch of weed and Firewhiskey. Dorcas and Marlene had bonded quickly after that night, fights on the quidditch pitch quickly turning into playful teasing in the halls. Marlene had even snuck into her dorm one night, a pack of cigarettes in hand and a soft smile on her face as she asked for some company. Dorcas was grateful that the cover of the night had hidden her flushed face from Marlene’s view.

Which is exactly why Dorcas was stuck in this predicament because Marlene had left her jumper in Dorcas’ dorm and Dorcas — instead of immediately returning it like a normal person — kept it under her bed and wore it every chance she got like some sort of creep. She had held onto it until the last days of the school year when she was packing her bags and reconsidering what she would do with it. Ultimately, she didn't have the guts to approach Marlene and give it to her. So now she was sitting in her room at home, writing a letter that she would attach to the jumper she should've returned months ago.

‘Dear Marlene,

I hope your summer is going well. Everything seems easier now that the threat of our OWLs isn't ahead or at least in my mind it does.

While unpacking at home I found a jumper that definitely wasn't mine and after asking my roommates none of them told me they had lost a jumper while at Hogwarts. I came to the conclusion it must be yours since you were the only other person who I had brought into my dorm. You probably forgot it that night you snuck in.

I’m really sorry it took this long for me to realise but even the nights are too hot this time of year to wear jumpers, so I hope you didn't miss it too much.

From Dorcas.’

Despite second-guessing her choices and being unable to sleep one entire night, Dorcas didn't regret the letter after she had received a reply from Marlene in only two days — along with a pack of homemade cookies.

‘Dear Cas,

I knew I hadn't left that shirt at home! I couldn't for the life of me find it in my dorm room and I was scared I had lost it. Glad to know it was in good hands! Must’ve spilled some perfume on it though, smells just like you :) Not that I mind, you smell really nice.

I hope you’re having fun! I was wondering if you wanted to meet up over the summer sometime? Just the two of us, out in the town or maybe at a pool or something? We could even go to Hogsmeade if you want.

My mum encouraged me to send a gift back since you were so kind as to mail the shirt back to me, so I baked some cookies for you! I’m still new to it but these are my favorite to make so I hope they’re good enough for your tastes.

Can't wait to see you again!

Love, Marlene.’

The simple exchange had left Dorcas a giddy, smiling mess for days, impatiently waiting for the days to pass by so she would see Marlene’s face again, maybe wearing the jumper Dorcas had stolen.

By the time the summer holidays after sixth year had started, Dorcas had lost count of the letters she and Marlene had sent each other. That summer however, unlike the last, was radio silent until the last week of August. This time when a letter assigned to Dorcas arrived and she had recognized the Mckinnon family owl her stomach hadn't filled with butterflies, rather a sickness she could feel rising to her throat. The sickness had built up until Dorcas couldn't handle it anymore and she had finally, finally torn open the envelope that had sat on her bedside table for three days.

‘Dorcas,

sorry if you end up needing to use a decoding charm on this letter but I can't seem to stop my hands from shaking as I write. I’ve written this letter a million times and thrown it into the trash every time, which is why it took me a month to send this in the first place. I’m wearing my Gryffindor robes at the moment, channelling my inner bravery. It’s not working.

I’m sorry for kissing you on the train.

Well, I’m not, actually. I liked it, your lips are really soft, just like I imagined. I’d been dreaming about doing it for so long, I just wished I had done it in a better way. I didn't mean to run away after either. Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit.

I just wanted to let you know how I really felt before we all finally grew up and I was forced to deal with the reality of our world. All of my friends are talking about the war and the preparations, Sirius is losing his mind and Lily is determined to join the fight. James is right behind her and his boys will follow blindly. But all I’ve been able to think about is how I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms, run away with your hand in mine to some place no one will ever recognize us.

I know it’s wrong — not how I feel about you because a love as pure as this could never be evil like the people who can't understand it try to make us think — but the way I’m disregarding every other thing in favour of you. I can’t help it when all that I dream of is your eyes looking into mine and that pretty smile on your face, lighting up the room. Funny to think that even the dead aren't guaranteed to feel heaven but I already have, in your presence.

I’m sorry for being a coward and not saying this to your face, sorry for not giving you the love confession you deserved. Romantic candles and sunsets on the beach but I was never the type to follow the rules, was I?

Hope you like the blueberry muffins I sent you. I know blueberries are your favourite (they might be my favourite too now that they remind me of the taste of your lips).

Yours, Marlene.’

Dorcas hadn't dignified that letter with a reply, instead letting the bravery so unlike her green robes wash over her as she ran to hug Marlene at the train station, pressing their lips together and feeling the fireworks explode between them as the world melted away.

A crumpled piece of parchment was in her pocket, a simple ‘I love you too’ written on it in case her words failed her. But by the time she had pulled away from the kiss and seen Marlene’s teary eyes and wide smile, she felt like no words were needed when her actions had done the job.

After that, the years had passed by in a blur. The world had changed and Dorcas could feel it crumbling beneath her feet and threatening to swallow her too but she hadn't paid it any mind, too focused on holding her love in her arms.

Marlene.

Marlene with her pretty smile and soft lips, always a cigarette between them — a bad habit she couldn't seem to break. Marlene with her hazel eyes that pulled Dorcas into a forest she dared not to escape from. Marlene, beautiful and alive Marlene, whose arms would always be Dorcas’ home.

There was no need for fear when Marlene would press a kiss to her lips and wish her good luck on her next mission with the Order, a playful promise of making her favourite meal by the time she returned. As if Marlene wouldn't be far away on a mission by the time Dorcas was back. The reality didn't matter, not when they would always come back to each other, alive and in one piece.

At least until Dorcas had received another letter from Marlene. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't help the smile that had crossed her lips when she opened it, feeling like she was once again 16 and hopelessly in love. Only one of those things had changed.

‘Dear Cassie,

sorry for sending this on such a short notice but I had to tell you I won't be waiting for you at home when you return. Don't blame Dumbledoor this time, blame my mum. My brother is back from abroad along with his family and mum is insisting we have a family reunion in the middle of a war.

I can't even blame her when things are getting so rough. I hate to think about it but it may be the last time I see my family all together. I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m inclined to visit even when it’s so risky.

I assure you I’ll be fine like I always am. You take care of yourself, can't have you sitting in St. Mungo’s during our anniversary.

See you soon, love, miss you terribly.

Yours, Marlene.’

Dorcas held onto the letter like a lifeline only a week later, wearing black robes wet from rain as she watched her love be lowered into the cold ground undeserving of embracing her. Her salty tears had smudged the sacred ink which had immortalised Marlene’s last, hopeful words.

“I think it's strange…” Lupin began to speak as he walked up to her. Dorcas remained unflinching, staring straight at Marlene’s casket and hoping, praying for a miracle that would confirm this was all a dream. She would wake up in Marlene’s warm arms, safe and sound. Instead, Remus’ next words only served to twist the knife further in Dorcas’ chest: “That the Death Eaters just so happened to attack the one night that Marlene was there.”

“What are you insinuating, Lupin?” Dorcas asked, not in the mood for his vagueness.

“There are only a few close people Marlene would've told she was leaving to see her family,” Remus continued, “and we know there is a traitor among our ranks. I’m afraid Marlene may have just told the wrong person the wrong thing.”

Dorcas’ eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at Lupin, who was turning his head away, inviting her to follow his suspicions.

She followed Remus’ gaze, landing on Sirius’ hunched over form. She had to do a double take, to make sure she hadn't already gone crazy with grief but there was no mistaking who Remus was looking at. When she looked back up at Remus he only gave her a nod, confirming her thoughts.

But it couldn't be.

No.

Dorcas’ eyes trailed down to Sirius’ hands and there it was — the red and gold friendship bracelet Marlene had made back in 6th year for Sirius’ birthday. The two star charms still dangle from the worn out threads, shining against his pale skin. It was all the confirmation Dorcas needed that Sirius was innocent, as if the tears streaming down his face weren't enough.

She wasn't sure what had possessed Remus, if the war had really made all of them so distrustful, if perhaps she and Marlene had only been shielded away from it because of their love for each other. In that moment Dorcas dared to think death a mercy, for at least her and Marlene trusted each other until the end. At least she had lost Marlene instantly instead of watching her drift away and turn into an unrecognisable shadow of the version she had fallen in love with.

“Remus…” She looked up at him, tears that she thought she had bleed dry threatening to fall again. She spoke again, unsure of who she was convincing, herself or Remus: “You don't actually think that.”

She watched Remus shake his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m just telling you to be wary,” he said and walked off, leaving Dorcas alone with her thoughts.

One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to stop until every one of those wretched bastards was dead.

Dorcas’ body was found in early August of next year, surrounded by the corpses of Death Eaters she had dragged to death alongside her. One final act of revenge. She was buried alongside Marlene by request of her family, with two unused wedding bands on a chain around her neck and her final letter in her pocket — two declarations of a love that wasn't allowed to bloom.

‘My dearest, Marlene,

I love you, my star.

I know how much you loved to hear it when I would press a kiss to your lips and smile, whispering the same words into your soft skin. I hope the words reached you all the same when I whispered them at your grave with my lips pressed against cold marble.

Forgive me for not writing to you sooner, I’m sure you’ll understand why. Every time I tried to pick up a quill to write, the only thing that would stain the parchment were my tears. I had no words for such a long time, nothing to say, to express my grief when it seemed like everything was gone and everyone had moved on without me, without you.

The distant look in your hazel eyes still haunts me but I’m afraid I can't remember what your smile looked like. Your laugh still rings in my ears when I wake up but I can no longer remember the sound of your voice. The fragments are there and I’m still desperately clinging onto how your tongue used to curl around my name, how you would stretch the last syllable when you wanted to tease me.

I can still feel your hand ghosting against mine, your cold breath against the nape of my neck as I cook your favourite meal in our kitchen. I still make enough for two and bring out your favourite plates, although I’m not sure why. I hope you don't mind that I’ve been using your cherry perfume, that expensive one Peter bought you for your birthday last year, I know it was your favourite. I’ve used up almost all of it by now, even though I used as little as I could every day, but I can't help myself to find comfort in every small thing that reminds me of you. I’ve been wearing your clothes recently, the old ones that still smell like you and your cherry body wash, though overpowered by the smell of smoke that still clings to them. Your old quidditch jumper is very comfortable, if a little small, I’m not sure why I stopped stealing it from you.

You had looked beautiful even that day, as they lowered you into the cold ground and I watched my own life be buried alongside you. Ever since then, the world has been cold and grey, the same as your tombstone. I hope you didn't mind my constant company those first few weeks but I couldn't bring myself to leave you alone, I could barely restrain myself from digging my fingers into the dirt and wrapping my arms around your cold bones and carrying them back home. I think they would offer more comfort and warmth than this cruel world has this year. I think my love should be enough to wake you up from your slumber.

The heavens are not merciful enough to agree.

I’m writing this to say goodbye one last time for I never got the chance to before and I hadn't mustered up the courage earlier. I’m going into this mission knowing it will be my last, knowing that all that will remain of me is my lifeless body if I am lucky enough. I had expressed my fear of dying to you when we were younger, eyes brighter and lungs full, but now I find myself strangely numb to the knowledge that I’m inviting death to my door. I had been afraid then to die without living the life we had planned together, to die without letting you know how deeply my love for you lives inside me, engraved into my bones. Now that my biggest fears have come true, I find that the fear has left me — perhaps just another thing I left buried alongside you.

My hands are stained red from the revenge I’ve tried to take but I know you will welcome me with open arms. Your friends — and what little I have left of mine — have tried to comfort me, to help me but they can't understand how I feel without you. They do not know that without you I am nothing, not when I had spent half a decade planning my life with you. I love you so much that even in your absence you are all I can think about, the words and touches I did not get the chance to share, the plans I did not get to fulfil because of my cowardice. I cannot imagine loving anyone the way I’ve loved you in your life and continue to after your death. You, dead, are so much better than anyone alive.

I cannot avenge you because even if I killed every single one of them, their souls wouldn't be enough to make up for the loss of yours. At the same time I cannot move on, not when you stand in the way of my life and when I dare not push you away, you are so far out of my reach already. There is no other choice for me but to join you. So this may not be a goodbye after all, perhaps just a notice that I’ll be with you soon if the heavens decide to bring us together again.

Please forgive me for not mailing this last letter, I don't know your new address.

Yours, in life and in death, Dorcas.’

Somewhere, far away in time and place, brown eyes meet hazel and Dorcas’ heart beats once more with no other purpose than to love.

#this... spiraled out of control so quickly #HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ZANDRA <33 #dedicated to you and i think you can tell bc i stalked your page for headcanons of them and included as many as i could #poured my heart and soul into this i hope it shows #zandra the love of my life <3 #ignore any mistakes pls i am SO tired #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #dorlene #marauders #my writing

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roguelioness · 1 year

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pas de trois

Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Aymeric de Borel/Alyzen Kaide/Estinien Varlineau Rating: E Words: 6931

(Read on ao3)

The water is hot, near-scalding, but Alyzen prefers it that way. It forms a steam shield against the blizzard outside currently ravaging Ishgard, and fogs up the windows that would inform her how brutal the snowfall it. Which suits her just fine - she wants no reminder of the journey she is to set off on.

She’d been annoyed that Count Edmont had planned a soiree on the eve of her departure. She hates socializing even at the best of times, even less so when there are missions to be undertaken. All she wanted was a quiet evening spent soaking in a bathtub, and that had almost been denied her – until Aymeric stepped in and offered the use of his manor.

A foolish move, to be sure. Though she might be the Warrior of Light, though she might be a ward of one of Ishgard's great houses, she is still an outsider, and the local populace would not take too kindly to the fact that she was spending the night at the house of one of Ishgard's most powerful (and sought-after) men.

"There is naught to fear," Aymeric had soothed with a smile, "I will be meeting with Estinien, and will spend the night with him. None shall know you occupy the mansion. Your privacy shall be guaranteed, I assure you."

A chance to be alone? Fully alone, in a place that wasn’t in the middle of some wilds, with amenities that offered a chance to unwind? Well, how could she turn down that offer? And so she's stretched out in a marble tub, soaking in water that will never turn cold – Garlond's new engineering marvel of course – the scent of incense and sandalwood heavy in the air.

Her eyes slide shut, and with a soft, luxurious sigh she slips deeper into the water, letting herself relax, pushing all the memories of the past into the background.

A quiet, quiet creak has her tensing.

Someone is in the room with her. She can sense their presence, that awareness prickling at the nape of her neck. The alarm that should follow is absent; considering none save one knows of her being here, it can only mean… "I take it your meeting was cut short, lord commander?" she teases.

"We came to an agreement sooner than I expected," is his casual, noncommittal response. The smirk threaded through the syllables has her alert.

"We?" she questions, turning at last towards the room's new occupants. Or intruder, as it were, for standing next to Aymeric is Estinien, his steel blue eyes glinting so sharp even in the muted light of the room. Both men are dressed casually, in soft breeches and loose-fitting shirts, their hair the kind of flat and mussed that comes from wearing a hat. They make a striking contrast standing next to each other - though both are tall and muscular, Estinien is lithe and wiry while Aymeric is broad-shouldered and sturdy. They’re both handsome men in their own right, and the sight of them together, like this, so comfortable and relaxed, short-circuits her brain for a few seconds.

Estinien’s mouth lifts up into a smirking half-smile.

Her gaze narrows. "What is the meaning of this?" she asks, harsh and blunt, sinking below the level of the foam that covers the water's surface. Estinien's expression, though she cannot decipher it entirely, is unnerving, and ignites a lick of flame in her belly – though she'll never admit to it.

"I believe we have some negotiating to do."

"This hardly feels like the time or place for such a thing."

Aymeric’s voice is perfectly even, as though he’s commenting on the weather. "Not so for the proposal I have in mind."

She presses her lips together tight, teeth gritted together as she tries to avoid looking at Estinien. What could he possibly mean? "And what proposal would that be?"

The grin on Aymeric’s face makes her quirk her brow, so wide and satisfied it is. She’s seen his cat sport a similar expression at mealtimes. His gaze is darker; there’s a glint of something baser, untamed, lurking in those cerulean depths. "You want to fuck Estinien."

The coarse word, spilled so casually from a man who is otherwise so elegantly eloquent, has her starting, the lick of heat stoking to a full flame. Then the rest of his statement catches up to her and her jaw drops. "I beg your pardon?" she stutters.

Aymeric moves towards her - prowls, really, his stride measured and slow, as though trying to keep from spooking her – and drops to his haunches by the side of the tub. Resting his elbows on the edge, he once again smiles at her, so calm and assured it has her stilling. "You do not have to hide from me," he murmurs. "How you look upon him has not escaped my notice.”

“I don’t know what you mean–”

“The signs are easy to miss, were I not actively searching for them. The stiffness of your spine, the way you clasp your hands behind your back. The flush on the tips of your ears–”

"That's– he frustrates me!” she sputters. “He's an annoying little shit sometimes–"

"Come now, that is not entirely true, is it?" Aymeric reaches out to wind a stray lock of deep copper hair around his finger, gives it a gently chastising tug. Lowering his voice, he adds, "Would it make you feel better if I told you he feels the same way?"

"What?" It slips out soft and strangled. Her face, already flushed from the heat, turns scarlet.

“Estinien would like to bed you.” Again, it’s such a casual remark she gapes at him.

Finding her tongue, she scowls, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Am I to believe he so readily confided such a thing to you?”

“Believe what you’d like,” Estinien drawls, resting one shoulder against the doorway. His silver hair is illuminated by the lights in the bedroom and forms a kind of feathery halo – ironic, since he’s certainly no saint.

“This is ridiculous,” her face feels like it could burst into flame at any second, “you can’t just waltz in here and– and– say something like that!”

“Why not?” Aymeric glides his fingers through her hair, gently untangling any knot he encounters. Aly’s keenly, intensely aware of the fact that he’s just inches away from her, and very clothed in contrast to her nude self. She’s not self-conscious by any means – a life on the road means that anyone she travels with gets the occasional eyeful – but it’s never bothered her as much as it does this moment.

With these two.

“What am I supposed to do with that information?” she gripes, though it doesn’t have as much heat as it could.

“Ah, I’m glad you asked.” Aymeric leans in, presses his lips – chapped and cold from the wind outside – to her forehead. “Would you like to?” The emphasis on you is clear.

She’s not usually so slow, but this is– new and unexpected territory and she’s very, very apprehensive. “Would I like to what?”

“Fuck him.” Again, that small smile, that knowing look.

This must be some kind of trick. They’re clearly pulling a prank on her. “Aymeric. Be serious.”

“This is no jest, Alyzen.” When her eyes flick over to Estinien, he nods once, sharp and sure, his face carefully devoid of all expression – save his gaze, which is like that of a winter wolf in front of fresh meat.

Throat dry, mouth as arid as the Sagoili desert, she licks her lips, attempting to piece together a coherent thought. “Let me get this straight. Estinien wants to take me to bed, and he told you as much, and you’re asking me if I want to?” She shakes her head. “Why would you– is this some twisted Ishgardian way of ending–” she trails off, a deep furrow between her brows. What exactly is there between her and Aymeric? Neither of them have defined the boundaries of their relationship. “If you would rather not… not continue our tryst,” she says stiffly, hating him just a little for making her use the word tryst, as though she were a cheap and tawdry thing. Her heart is a rapid hammer against her ribs as she continues, “then all you have to do is say so. You do not have to– to make a mockery of me, my lord.”

Aymeric makes a soft, distressed sound, his face clearly displaying his dismay. “No, no, you misunderstand me,” he begins, but is cut off by Estinien.

“What he means to say,” the dragoon unfolds himself and stalks to her side, crossing his arms and staring down at her. Even though she’s fairly well-concealed by the bubbles, she still feels vulnerable and too-exposed, and her fingers curl into her palms in the water. “Is that we would both be fucking you.” Alyzen chokes, coughing as she tries to steady her breathing once more. Estinien smirks, one brow arching into a pretty point. “Only if you’re amenable to it, of course.”

She glances from his face to Aymeric’s, waiting to see if they have anything more to add. Surely at any moment now, one of them will laugh, and declare it to be a fine joke. When the minutes tick by silently, their expressions unchanging, only then does she realize that they’re serious.

“I–” she sighs and sits up straighter. The slope of her breasts breaches the water’s surface. There’s a measure of satisfaction in the way Estinien’s gaze drops to them for a split second before returning to hers. She can’t deny she’s had indecent thoughts about Estinien, has wondered how it would feel to have him touch her. How it would feel to touch him. She’s seen the way he’s looked at her, out of the corner of his eyes, how it pulled something molten into the pit of her stomach. She should refuse – she should send them away, should be indignant that they came to her with such a proposal, but instead… “How would this even work?” she asks, internally groaning at the look of utter smugness on the dragoon’s face.

He was going to be insufferable.

“What are your concerns?” Aymeric’s hands, with those long, elegant fingers, rest on the rim of the bath. Alyzen finds herself distracted, remembering the way the calluses rasp pleasantly against her skin. He clears his throat, drawing her focus back to his face, and to his credit he doesn’t tease her for her wandering attention.

“I–” she throws her head back and groans. “Twelve take you, Aymeric. This is most certainly not the place to have this kind of discussion. How am I meant to think when I’m naked and the two of you are not?” It’s said with the intention to shock and startle, to maybe bring them to their senses – herself included, because Nymeia help her, she’s actually considering this, which means there must be something wrong with her.

It doesn’t work as expected.

“That can be remedied easily enough,” Estinien smirks. His hands move to the edge of his tunic and in a smooth, fluid motion, he pulls it off, revealing an expanse of planes and angles and muscles that she desperately wants to map with hands and mouth. Aly lets out a startled yelp and turns away sharply, straight into Aymeric’s amused face.

“‘Tis too late to play the shy maiden,” Estinien drawls from behind here. “There’s naught here you have not seen before.”

“I beg your pardon?” she whirls towards him, outraged enough to forget her compromised circumstances. “What in the fucking void do you mean by that?”

“Only that you’ve surely seen a man in the nude. Or have you not been keeping the Lord Commander company?”

Furious, she makes to stand up, but Aymeric’s hand on her shoulder keeps her in place. “Fuck off,” she snarls, but before she can curse him out some more, he quirks a brow. “I believe that was the purpose of this discussion,” he smirks.

“Estinien.” Aymeric interjects, clearly exasperated. “Would it overtax you to be more diplomatic? As I recall, you did not hesitate overmuch when I spoke to you of this proposal.”

Baffled and as irritated as a clam loaded with grains of sand, Alyzen clears her throat, chooses her words with the utmost of care. “For all this… talking, neither of you have attempted to explain the intricacies of such an arrangement.” She glances from one man to the other, wishing she could read their minds. “I do not want any misunderstanding, nor would I want jealousy to get in the way of old friendships and working relationships.”

“Your forthrightness is most appreciated,” Aymeric says, a touch of praise in the way he speaks.

She rolls her eyes. “The sooner we finish this discussion, the sooner I can get back to what I was doing.”

Aymeric smiles and brushes his lips across her temple. “Estinien and I are indeed old friends,” he says. “We do not begrudge whatever happiness the other might find; it would mean all the more if we were to share in each other’s joy.”

“You understand what you’re asking,” she says carefully. “We set out to travel soon. I’ll be away from you for days, weeks even, while he will be there–”

“And I trust the both of you to keep the other safe. Should you find pleasure in the cold nights, I will be glad of it.”

She stares at him, taking the measure of his response, trying to find the smallest ilm of hesitation. She finds none. He returns her searching gaze patiently, his expression open, the hand on her shoulder steady and sure. “You really do mean that,” she murmurs.

His palm moves to cradle her jaw. “I would not be dishonest, not with you.”

Catching her lip between her teeth, finding herself oddly shaky, Alyzen turns to Estinien. Bare-chested, with his arms crossed, his posture is guarded, and it makes her tense. “If I desired to spend my nights with Aymeric alone, would you be amenable?”

“Aye,” he nods.

“What of–” she hesitates. “Are the two of you truly comfortable with this?” She hates that she sounds nervous and uncertain, like an sheltered young maiden, but she must know. Most of her relationships – if they could even be called that – have been fleeting, a quick match struck at midnight, gone with a bare breath. This – whatever this is – is not love (not yet, her mind whispers) – but neither is it merely a kind of itch to be scratched. And while this proposal intrigues her – she’d like to know where it leads – she values their friendship and would rather not risk losing it.

Aymeric senses her struggle - she sees it in the tenderness on his face. “Were either of us discomfited by even the smallest degree we would not be here, I assure you.”

Nodding, she turns to Estinien, startled to see something fond and gentle on his features. “Aye,” he rumbles. “He speaks true.”

She huffs. “And if I had been offended by your suggestion?”

“We would have apologized with utmost sincerity, spoken no more on the matter. and made no allusion to it.” Aymeric’s eyes twinkle with mischief, pulling a short sigh of laughter from her. “However, I confess I had every confidence you would be amenable, or I would not have made the suggestion in the first place.”

“Presumptuous,” she swats his chest.

“But not incorrect,” he gives her chin a playful tweak.

Alyzen sighs. “What now?”

“Considering we are all in accordance, I see no reason to move forward with this arrangement,” Aymeric brushes his lips against her temple, smiling against her skin at her sigh.

“Hold a moment,” Estinien’s gravel tones are deeper than normal. “I have a concern I wish to have addressed.”

Alyzen tilts her head, waiting for him to continue.

Estinien’s eyes are warm with something she cannot unravel. “Can we agree that there shall be none but us involved in this arrangement?”

“Yes, of course,” Aymeric’s reply is surprised, as though he had not thought it needed to be stated.

“Well, yes, I would hope so,” she arches a brow.

“Good,” the dragoon declares, then takes the two steps required to close the distance between them, drops to his haunches by the bathtub, and curls a hand around the nape of her neck.

Aly’s skin breaks out in gooseflesh.

Estinien leans in close to her, closer, so close their lips are but a hair’s breadth apart – but he doesn’t kiss her. His breath, warm and wine-scented, washes over her face, his fingers twitching against her skin. He waits, patient, his eyes sharp and focused. She’s pinned by the force of it, her breath caught in her throat, unable to look anywhere else, even as Aymeric presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

“Eager, aren’t we?” what was meant to be mocking comes out as a low, soft exhale.

His reply is a rumble in the space between them. “Would you rather I leave?”

She responds by closing the gap and pressing her lips to his.

Half a heartbeat of hesitation before Estinien plunders.

His kiss is greedy and rough, indelicate but in a way she likes, his teeth gently rasping against the delicate flesh of her mouth. Behind her, she can feel Aymeric shift, his hand moving from her hair down the side of her neck, his fingertips skimming over her collarbones, lowering beneath the water’s surface to seek out her breasts – and when his thumb grazes over her nipple she gasps into Estinien’s mouth.

Aymeric laughs softly, amusement curled in the sound, and repeats the action over and over. Aly blindly reaches out, grasping Estinien's shoulder with one hand, her other moving to cover Aymeric's as he strokes her breasts. She moans, pulling away from the heated greed of the dragoon's mouth, her head tipping back to explode the column of her neck.

Estinien wastes no time in taking advantage of this new expanse of flesh, pressing his mouth to the thin skin that covers her pulse, setting his teeth and sucking a bruise into her flesh that she will struggle to cover come the morn. Aymeric’s hand slides lower, to her sternum, fingers lightly brushing over the smooth, raised chainlink scar there, down to her belly button, and even lower, till he’s at the cusp of her mound, before retracing his steps back to her chest.

They’ve barely begun to touch her and already she feels like she’s wound up too-tight in her skin.

“I think she’s been in that bath long enough,” Estinien grumbles. “What say you, lord commander?”

Aymeric takes her mouth for a slower kiss; the taste of him beneath the spiced wine he’d been drinking heats her blood to magma. When he moves away, she follows with a soft sound of protest, and he gives in and kisses her again, making her feel like an expensive indulgence, something to be savored. She shifts, squirms, and when she starts to rise from the water Aymeric leans away, looking very satisfied with himself. “I believe you’re right, Estinien. Why don’t we help her out?”

No sooner than he says the words than Estinien slides his arm around her chest and under her knees and hauls her up with an ease that shouldn’t surprise her but does. Aly’s not a small woman by any means - an adventurer’s life means her muscles are dense from combat, but Estinien makes her feel petite, almost fragile.

The cold air of the room swats at her, causing her to break out in gooseflesh. Thin, gossamer threads of fine white mist rise in in delicate trails from her skin. She shivers, and so does Estinien, his gaze drawn to the droplets of water dotting her body, lent a deep golden hue from the hearth’s flame. He leans in and touches his tongue to her collarbone, licking a stripe up the curve of it, nipping the place where it meets her throat.

“Estinien,” she grumbles even as she trembles from that caress, “I’m cold.”

“Forgive me,” he drawls. Striding rapidly to the bed in the adjacent room, she’s unprepared for how abruptly he dumps her onto the mattress; she gasps indignantly, moving to sit up on her knees. “You voidbitten ass, what was that for?”

“You said you were cold - surely you must be dry now.” The smirk at the corner of his lips is far too endearing for her to stay mad at him. Beside him, Aymeric sighs, tossing a large towel onto the nearby chair. “Could you not have waited a moment longer?”

“For someone who proposed this, Aymeric, I’m surprised you’re not more impatient.” Estinien might be talking to the lord commander, but his attention is on her, and Aly can’t help tucking her lip between her teeth as he starts to undo the ties to his breeches. When he catches her looking, however, he hesitates, fingers stilling on the waistband.

She doesn’t want that. She wants the assured, certain Estinien, the dragoon with the sharp tongue; she wants him to want her, and to know that he wants her - this reticence of his puts her on edge. Aly leans up, one hand on his shoulder, and moves to kiss him - but stops short of his mouth, acutely aware that Aymeric is right there.

Suddenly, Estinien’s hesitation doesn’t feel so strange.

“Kiss him, cherie,” Aymeric orders, his voice husky.

She does. Slow and languid, she kisses him delicately, relishing the groaned whine he spills into her. Her hands move to his breeches, and she finishes undoing the ties but stops there - it’s his decision to pull them down, to let them pool around his feet, to step out of them and onto the bed.

Alyzen breaks away from his lips and turns to look at Aymeric, keenly aware that Estinien is settled next to her, that his broad fingers are splayed against her sternum, that his silver hair falls over her shoulder. “Meric,” she says softly, calling to him, calling for him; his face lights up in a fond smile, his cobalt eyes aphotic and coveting. He undresses quickly, precisely, placing each article of clothing across the armrest of the couch to keep it from wrinkling, before joining them on the bed, the mattress sinking further to accommodate him. Cradling her jaw between his hands, he takes her mouth, his nails lightly digging into her scalp as he sinks his fingers into her hair.

She trembles, and Estinien laughs, a dark, greedy sound, before he starts to feather kisses down the column of her neck, skimming his lips over her tattooed shoulder. She lets them move her to their liking, till she’s trapped between them. They work in tandem, a strange kind of coordination to how they caress her; Estinien’s welcome roughness has her arching into Aymeric, and his meticulous touches have her melting into the dragoon. The two extremes send her head spinning, render her skin sensitive, every nerve alert and receptive. Heat builds up in her flesh, a familiar ache between her legs, and she can tell from every uncontrolled rock of her hips that they’re as affected as she is.

Aymeric sucks at the swell of her breast, dragging his teeth along the curve of it before taking her peaked nipple into the warmth of his mouth and Aly hisses, attempting to arch into him but his arm around her torso keeps her in place. She squirms between them, desperate to be touched, desperate for a release from the tension wound up in her belly. Estinien chuckles, low and sly, one hand pinching her chin and holding her gaze to his as the other strokes along the inside of her thigh, soft, teasing brushes of skin against skin, getting closer - but never quite touching - that place where she burns with a wet heat. “Eager, aren’t we?” he echoes her taunt from earlier, but his voice is gravelled with lust and the sound of it makes her moan. “How should we begin, then?” His attention flicks to Aymeric. “Do we take turns?” he asks, before dropping his eyes back to her flushed, sweat-beaded skin, lips curling into a devilish smirk. “Or do you want your pleasure first?” He punctuates the offer with a slow glide of his fingers up her folds, offering her the most feather-like, unsatisfying strokes against her clit.

Aly pants into the air, desperately attempting to shift her hips to seek out more of his touch, but once again she’s thwarted by Aymeric’s hold on her. “Please,” it bursts out of her – she’s not sure what she’s asking for, but she wants – she needs – more.

Estinien’s smile grows wider, near-vulpine. “You beg so prettily,” he praises in a low, elated croon, reinforced by Aymeric’s lips pressed up against her temple. He coaxes her knees further apart, stroking her thighs, scraping his nails along her thighs and the back of her knees to pull a whine out of her before dipping his fingers into her folds. Aly jerks at the sudden stimulation, a deep moan pushed into the crook of Aymeric’s neck as Estinien eased his fingers into her.

“Fuck,” he groans at the feel of her, both awed and amazed.

“Please,” Alyzen begs again unashamedly, rolling her hips, trying to get him to move, to give her the friction she needs.

Estinien presses deeper, curling his fingers, and she cries out, loud and wanton. Aymeric’s hand trails along her side, his knuckles brushing the sensitive undersides of her breasts, before his long, calloused fingertips land on her clit.

Aly whimpers. It’s so much, too much, being touched by them both; and then Estinien starts to fuck her, a slow, curling push-pull of those combat-honed digits while Aymeric strokes her clit even slower, much, much lighter than she wants, than she needs, and her brain short-circuits and she can’t think of anything except the pleasure building up, turning her blood to syrup, her mind to mush.

She gasps something out - no words, just garbled sounds, her head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, an arm twined about his neck, fingers grabbing onto stray strands of his raven hair, gripping onto them like a lifeline.

Aymeric presses harder, firmer against that sensitive nub and she cries out, making sharp, quick little pants, straining against their hold as her body starts to shake.

“Look at me,” Estinien demands, hoarse, gruff, desperate, and she’s helpless to do anything but obey, fighting to keep her eyes open and on his face as her nerves, already alit with pleasure, flood with ecstasy as he crooks his fingers against her walls. Aymeric’s free hand moves to wrap around her throat, keeping her head upright, his fingers resting against her hummingbird pulse.

Estinien’s focus on her is absolute, his attention almost tangible with how intense it is, and it is that concentration, that stark desire on those bladed cheekbones and within that honed gaze that breaks her and tips her over, a high-pitched cry falling from her as she climaxes.

Aymeric’s fingers on her clit gentle, drawing out her pleasure; she shudders with oversensitivity when Estinien pulls his digits from her cunt. For several moments it’s all she can do to catch her breath and regain her bearings.

“All right?” Aymeric asks her, examining her face closely.

She nods, shifting her release-heavy muscles to face him. He’s propped back against the veritable mass of pillows, his cock, erect and beaded with precome, resting on his stomach. The sight of it fills her with renewed heat - she knows how it feels in her, and she wants it. Wants him. Wants to watch him take his pleasure from her. The core of her starts to ache with that need. “I believe it is my turn, is it not?” she teases, her voice husky, as she crawls over him.

“Are you certain?” he asks. “We do not have to do anything–” he breaks off on a choked gasp as she slides her wet slit against his length, rocking back and forth, coating him in her slick.

“Do you want to stop?” she asks sweetly, relishing the deep, guttural groan he makes.

Estinien grips her hair, tugs gently to tilt her head back. “Stop teasing the poor man,” he murmurs against her lips, “and fuck him.” His face wears an tenebrous smile, his fingertips massaging her scalp as she feels Aymeric position himself against her entrance, and as he hilts himself in her - sure and certain, with a single, fluid thrust - Estinien kisses her, swallowing her moan, taking away the last of her air so she’s breathless.

Aymeric plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts upwards, knocking a cry from her, setting a slow, measured pace; each time he fucks into her, Estinien guides her down so she takes all of Aymeric’s cock, so she feels all of him, so she’s filled with all of him, again and again and again, and then he adds to the exquisite torment by strumming his fingers across her aching clit, pulling a wanton, lewd whine from her that she barely registers over the frantic drumming of her heart.

Bliss burns through her; she climbs inexorably to a peak that she’s then taken past, taken higher, the tension growing till she’s all but feral from it.

“Aly,” Aymeric stutters out in a strained gasp, and she peers at him through sex-drunk lids. His face is a rictor of pleasure, jaw clenched, that plush, clever mouth taut with desperate tension; his fingers, splayed out on her thighs, dig in deeper, harder, keeping her pinned to him. She knows he’s close - she can hear it in his voice, in the urgent, stuttered way he buries himself in her and she whines, wanting to reach her own peak, bending over him to kiss his mouth, to taste his pleasure.

Estinien plants a kiss behind her ear, scrapes his teeth down the length of her neck and circles her clit with a firmer touch, and she comes with a strangled shout as he sucks a mark onto her shoulder, distantly aware of Aymeric pulling out of her a moment before his spend spatters across her stomach as he reaches his own end.

Her body limp post-climax, she’d fall onto Aymeric’s chest if it weren’t for Estinien’s hold on her. Panting, gasping, she lets him guide her off the lord commander, one arm thrown artlessly over her face. She feels the bed shift and ripple as someone climbs off; she peers through her fingers to see Estinien make his way to the chair and pick up the discarded towel. Sensing his intent, she flushes and sits up, suddenly very aware of how sticky she is. She holds out her hand and he gives her the towel; she can’t seem to look at either of them as she cleans herself off.

“Alyzen.” Aymeric’s voice, soft and filled with concern, breaks the suddenly-tense silence. She ignores him, focuses on cleaning a spot below her belly button that’s already clean, but she needs something to do.

“Aly.” Gentle fingers guide her head up to meet Aymeric’s worried expression. Next to him, Estinien is blank-faced, his eyes carefully watching her every move. “Are you all right?” he asks.

She sighs. This is silly, she thinks. We’re all here because we want to be, so why am I embarrassed?

As though reading her mind, Aymeric says, “There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” his thumb gently stroking the curve of her cheek.

“I know,” she sighs again.

“I did not hurt you?”

“No! Not at all,” she rushes to reassure him.

“Would you like me to leave?” Estinien asks, gruff but cautious.

“No,” her hand lashes out, whip-quick, and latches onto his wrist. “Give me a moment, will you? I– I’ve not done this before, I don’t know the– etiquette.”

Estinien smiles, if that barest lift of his lips can be called that, but she can see the relief in it. Her chest warms at the sight - he’d thought they’d hurt her.

“Come here,” she tells Estinien, carelessly casting the towel aside. He moves slowly toward her, giving her plenty of space to pull away if she chose to. “I’m going to kiss you,” she says. “I’m going to kiss you because I want to. I’m going to kiss you because I want you to fuck me,” and she leans in, giving him time to back away if he so desired.

He doesn’t.

This kiss is soft, tender. Slow and hesitant and sweet, each taking the time to let the other get acquainted, get familiar, each better learning the shape and taste of the other. The embers of her earlier need slowly start to glow again, her skin warming with each brush of his lips against hers. Estinien shifts, curls his hand around the back of her neck, and angles her so he can deepen the kiss. She whimpers into his mouth, quiet, needy; behind her, Aymeric shuffles closer to her, trailing his fingers up and down her back, his touch soothing even as it inflames.

Alyzen lets her hands glide downwards, finally exploring the planes of his chest the way she’d wanted to. Estinien bears as many scars as she does, and she gently touches each one, silently acknowledging the ordeals he’s been through, ducking down to press a kiss to the bigger ones. He groans, capturing a hand and guiding it even lower; she takes the hint and wraps her fingers around his cock, giving him a slow, experimental stroke, gratified by the sharp gasp he makes.

Aymeric and Estinien exchange a look over her head; she doesn’t understand the unspoken communication, but the next moment Aymeric is flat on his back and Estinien drags and drapes her over his chest. Still confused, she stares down at Aymeric’s face, a puzzled frown on her face. “Sit on my face,” he says in a low voice that drips with sin, and Aly flushes bright red but does as he asks, her cunt hovering over him until he grips her thighs and yanks her down. At the first touch of his tongue against her slit she whimpers, falling forward onto Estininen, one hand gripping the dragoon’s shoulder for support. Estinien grins at her, his eyes glinting wickedly; he leans in and she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but instead all he does is whisper, “A fine throne you have, ma belle,” just as Aymeric flicks his tongue against her clit, and whatever retort she’d had melts into a strangled, choked moan.

She has her revenge when she curls her hand around his length, her thumb swiping over the moisture gathered at the tip and spreading it down. He kisses her when she starts to stroke him, his moan pressed against her tongue, bucking into her grip when she lightly squeezes.

It’s all she can do to maintain any semblance of rhythm, especially when Aymeric is systematically taking her apart; his tongue, silvered as it is in matters of diplomacy, is practically a weapon of pleasure as it laps at her. Heat fills her veins, lightning sparks down her nerves, and she can’t help but grind her hips against his face. All too quickly - perhapy alarmingly so - she’s close to her peak, and she gasps out a stuttered, “Wait,” as she tugs on Aymeric’s hair to get him to stop.

He halts instantly, looking up at her with a crease between his brows. “I’m close,” she explains, forestalling his concern, trying to get her weak, shaky knees to cooperate with her as she climbs off him. Aymeric understands, rolling away from her as she settles onto her back, one leg hooked around Estinien’s waist.

Estinien doesn’t waste any time, taking his cock and sliding it through her slick, coating himself liberally before pressing the tip against her entrance. He lets out a low moan as he slides in slowly, his eyes trained on her face, watching for any signs of discomfort. He stills when he hilts himself fully, waiting for her to adjust, until she grows impatient. “Move,” she demands, rocking against him. He does, setting a pace that’s hard and rough, just as she wants it, and then Aymeric’s mouth is on her breast, his fingers strumming across her clit and Aly cries out, toes curling into the sheets, the layered pleasure taking her past the peak she’d expected into something higher.

“Let go,” Aymeric murmurs into her ear, placing a soft kiss to her cheek; his fingers sharpen their torment, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves the way he knows will break her, and she does - she falls into her climax so intensely she nearly shrieks, her eyes opening just in time to catch Estinien’s blissed-out grimace as he reaches his own end.

Exhausted, her body little better than a puddle of bones, she’s content to lie where she is and catch her breath, only twitching as someone - she doesn’t even bother to see who - cleans her up. Aymeric’s scent, noticeable even through the heavy haze of sex, meets her nose a second before his warm body presses up to her side.

“All right?” he asks as he pulls a soft woolen blanket over her, and she cracks open an eye to give him a tired, but satisfied, smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The rustle of cloth catches her attention, however, and she lifts herself up on her elbows to find Estinien pulling on his pants. “What are you doing?” she asks, something knotting uncomfortable in her chest.

“I’m getting dressed,” he remarks. “It would not do for me to stay.”

That knot grows bigger. “Don’t,” she says quietly.

He stills and looks at her, something unreadable in that slate gaze.

“Stay,” It takes every onze of her strength, but she manages to push the word out. “Please.” It comes out so quiet it barely reaches her own ears.

“Are you certain?” Estinien frowns, but his breeches still remain untied. “Were someone to hear of this, it would reflect poorly on the both of you.”

Alyzen tips her gaze away, unsure what to say. She’s been called worse things, but she would never risk Aymeric’s reputation. Any yet, she wants Estinien to stay, to have the comfort of both their presences close as she slumbered. She doesn’t know when she’ll have another chance, given her upcoming journey to the Dravanian hinterlands. She wants the comfort of touch, especially after… this. Estinien leaving, so casually, so carelessly, makes her feel a touch… used.

But she doesn’t want to cause Aymeric a scandal. Ishgard has too great a need for him, whether they know it or not. His image is more important than her petty desires…

“She wants you to stay, Estinien. Surely you cannot mean to deny her? It is a simple enough request.”

Startled, she catches a similar look on the dragoon’s features before her gaze lands on Aymeric. He looks perfectly placid, his features calm and untroubled, a small smile on his mouth.

“But–”

“No one will know of this, and if they do, well. It would merely be yet another rumor among the dozen or so that relate to my ‘escapades’. You know as well as I do how the nobles talk, Estinien.”

“I don’t know, ‘Meric. Maybe he’s right,” she says, gnawing on her lip. “It’s a risk, staying here. I don’t– there’s too much at stake. I should also go.” She moves to climb out of the bed, but Aymeric’s hand latches onto her forearm and brings her to a halt.

“Should it not be my choice to decide whether or not this is a risk I wish to gamble on? I know full well what the hazards are, and still I want you to stay. Please, Aly.” He look over to Estinien. “You too, Estinien. Stay the night. It would be inconceivably rude to–”

“Dramamongers, the both of you,” Estinien interrupts. “Far be it for me to keep you from your flowery speeches, Aymeric, but I’m in no mood for them. There’s still a blizzard outside–”

“You were the one who wanted to leave,” Aly narrows her eyes, her indignation rolling off her in waves.

“Aye, and seeing as I’ve no wish to wander out into the cold, I’ll be staying,” He makes his way to her side of the bed, and nudges her shoulder with his hip. “Move over.”

She rolls her eyes, but shifts to give him space. Estinien climbs in next to her, lying flat on his back, doing his best impression of a wooden plank. Alyzen stares at him incredulously, wondering for a moment just why she’d wanted him to stay as she lets Aymeric coax her back down. She’s not a cuddler - not usually - but it feels nice to rest her head on his shoulder, so she does. Her eyes drift shut to the sounds of their breathing, interspersed with the soft crackle of the fireplace, but it isn’t until she feels Estinien press up against her back that she’s able to fully relax.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbles, placing a foot atop hers.

“I would, if you stop talking,” she mutters against Aymeric’s neck.

Aymeric sighs and kisses the top of her head. “Sleep, cherie,” he says.

There’s something very, very soft in her chest, and it winds, like satin ribbons, around her ribs, soothes the snarls in her heart. Here, now, In this moment, she is warm. Held.

She is safe.

For the first time in months, Alyzen has no nightmares.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fic #aymeric de borel #estinien varlineau #alyzen kaide #aystizen #i have... no excuse for this #can't believe i made it #would you believe this started off as a way to establish their relationship #and very quickly spiralled out of control #i made myself blush writing and editing this do not perceive me #yeeting this into the void and changing my name lol #roguelioness writes

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